Koon Chai Cafe

Chapter Nine - Bianca's Big Date Pt.1

Kopter

Every single fibre of my very being begged me not to go as I dragged myself out of bed. Bianca had texted me her address the night before and told me to pick her up at 'Eleven sharp.' Fearing her wrath, I wasn't gonna risk being late. I stumbled my way to the shower and turned the power up to full-blast in the hopes of hydro-punching some life into my body.

I looked long and hard into the mirror, steam fogging up the sides. Should I make an effort?

I ran my hand through my wet locks, contemplating what to do with them. Maybe, just maybe, if I don't make an effort then she'll completely lose interest in me. It's a long shot, but it's worth a try.

I grabbed the comb from the basin edge and parted my hair dead in the centre, letting the strands fall either side in a 90's boy band reject-esque curtains. Hit with sudden inspiration by my newfound hair-genius, I darted to my closet and pulled out a pair of army-camo cargo shorts and a white tank top I'd bought for an apocalypse themed halloween party a few years back. I hastily dragged them both on, hopping over my bag as I put my final sock on.

I walked over triumphantly to the full-length mirror beside my bed to inspect the completed aesthetic.

I looked like trash.

Perfect.

---

I achieved a few stares as I walked down Park Avenue, but the majority of people I passed were either too consumed in their own worlds to care or thought I was demonstrating some new high fashion movement they didn't quite understand.

The building of Bianca's penthouse was outrageous. I'd never seen so many security checks outside of an airport and just the sight of it gave me flashbacks of customs at JFK. I had to provide proof of ID, give them my fingerprint, as well as endure a brief body search. The security guard took a little longer than I would've liked over the cargo shorts - she blamed it on the pockets.

Once I'd finally proved my non-terrorist status, the concierge buzzed me up to Bianca's floor, offering me a refreshment for the treacherous journey. Not knowing what additional information I'd have to give in order to be beverage-worthy, I politely declined and stepped into the gold plated elevator.

Everything in the building smelt of expensive French perfume; the flowers, the staff, I lifted my blackened finger to my nose and sniffed. Christ, even the fingerprint ink smelled faintly of it. I glanced around; four golden reflections of myself stared back. At least I now know I could make a killing as an N-Sync lookalike living statue in Times Square.

The elevator glided to a halt. A small 'ping' filled the air before the door flew open, blinding me with white light.

"Kopter, welcome-" Bianca stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of me. She was dressed in a white, knee-length summer dress, a fur-trimmed white jacket and gold toed ballerina flats. She looked like she'd just stepped off the cover of vogue, only I don't think Vogue models use the same wide-eyed, stunned expression she displayed.

Behind her I saw the outline of a luxurious penthouse, all styled in black, white, and gold. Standing near the large sloping lounge windows stood five uniformed staff, all attempting to simultaneously keep their composure while sneaking side glances at my outfit. Bianca was stunned silent. Mission success.

"Soo... What time are we leaving?" I asked, feeling the need to break the thick, deadly silence.

Bianca shook her head a little and regained her composure. She looked me up and down, examined my outfit, and then gave me one of her most fake-sympathetic smiles.